Is this heaven?

The sound of the river, deep and full after the rain calls me out of my dream, whispering in my ear the question “Is this heaven?”

The warm wind bellows the curtains, filling the room and caressing the parts of me which lie outside the cosiness of the duck down.

Is this heaven?

My skin feels soft after last night’s long sea swim with my sister, the lough living up to her reputation of the lake of shadows, still, gentle and mystical.

Inviting us to be carried by her, to let go of the fear of jelly fish, of all the business of mothering and the knots of responsibility that tightens our shoulders. Finding a sense of oneness with her as we stroke, reaching a point where we no longer know where we end and she begins.

This is despite our greeting her with turned up noses and crinkled eyes as we lowered ourselves into her, her coldness creeping up to our waists, dreading her meeting our breasts, with the usual incessant chatter of the mind- oh why, is this mad?

Is this heaven?

My head slightly fuzzy from last night’s birthday wine shared with my cousin in the fading day light by the fire.

My phone has lost its hold, my emails go unanswered as the Donegal landscape, the place of my ancestors, works it magic on my soul.

Did I die last year after that morning in the soft September light when I sat opposite my neurosurgeon, a kind, gentle man with deep sadness and worry in his eyes.

Separated by a screen with a visual of my brain lesion and the silence, after the talk of brain surgery, filling the space between us.

I felt myself leaving my body, knowing that life would never be the same again.

Did I die then? Is this heaven?

Is the past year of adventures, courage rising to be more of who I really am, cherishing my three sons, rediscovering the wonder of my husband in Luca, dancing wildly with my friends, laughing as I drove the old camper van to the festival, connecting more with what really matters. Reconnecting to Celtic ways, finding the place of my dreams to work by the ocean. Letting go of work that no longer fits. Sitting by the fire listening with fresh appreciation of the familiar stories of old from dad and the laughter from mum and the tug of the heart of the truth that this too will pass.

Is this heaven?